Arc of Conversation
by syndomatic
Summary: He doesn't notice how he lets his grip on her last a beat longer than it should, until she pulls her hand away from him. — PokklePonzu


The first thing he admits to himself when he sees Ponzu is that she is not an exceptionally beautiful girl. At least, not compared to some other girls he's seen. She is plain-faced, her bangs hiding away her flat-colored eyes, jade hair shielded by the round of her curious hat — the kind of person he'd ignore if he spotted her hatless in a crowd.

She is not an exceptionally beautiful girl; not by any means. But for what it's worth, when he passes her for the first time, she catches him from the corner of her eye and — of all things, of all _people_ — turns to greet at him. She smiles, a quick upturn of her lips, and outstretches a hand for him to shake. He takes it; her hand is small, light, calloused in some spots, and he doesn't notice how he lets his grip on her last a beat longer than it should until she pulls her hand away from him.

"I'm Ponzu," she begins, voice chipper.

"Pokkle," he says in turn, sheepish despite himself.

"Oh." She tugs absently at the strap of her bag, examines her shoes. She looks like the type of a perfectionist, Pokkle thinks. Probably is. "What brings you here?"

"The exam," he simply says, because it's old news by now. There's nobody who hasn't heard of it. The arrows weigh upon his back and the air is permeated by the scent of the sea, reminding him of his responsibility, the reason he is here. The soles of his shoes dig slightly into the ground at the thought, and he feels a dull sense of disappointment at the fact that he's still nervous. He isn't very surprised, though. He continues, with false determination, "I'm going to become a Hunter."

"Right." She laughs, a fluttery sound that easily blends in with the noise surrounding them. "That's what everybody is here for, I suppose; myself included."

"That so," he says, assuming his stance of guard. She sounds much too cheerful for someone who'd greatly benefit from hurting him, for someone talking to someone who'd greatly benefit from hurting _her_, he thinks, and then wonders exactly _how_ she'd try and do that, with her tiny frame and too-light hands, before stopping his train of thought, feeling somewhat unnerved by his own imagination. Ponzu seems to notice, though, if the smile she has on is of any indication, and Pokkle feels a little guilty, a little unsettled as he excuses himself politely.

* * *

><p>"Oh, I have my methods," Ponzu tells him, with a dismissive wave of her hand, all secretive and sweet. They're resting on the airship, sitting beside each other with their backs against the window, because they came late and this was the only resting spot left untaken, really.<p>

Outside, it's night, and the cityscape under them lights the dim sky up with its artificial stars, glowing bright like the fake decorated trees he never fails to buy at the end of the year. The panorama is beautiful, but foreign and coldly unfamiliar; the loneliness of it all is nothing new, however, but her presence manages to soften the blow. At least a little. She's still a stranger, after all.

"You're not going to tell me." Pokkle scratches at the back of his neck. The green shade of her hair harshens under the sharp light that infiltrates it; he wonders if she knows he's watching. She probably does. One didn't get this far for nothing, he reminds himself. "Are you?"

"No, silly." Ponzu presses a hand against her laughing mouth. Her clothes smell of the doctor's, of bitter medicine, but she looks youthful enough to be a schoolgirl, or a hospital intern, or someone else at this angle, someone more innocent, and he doesn't know why he's thinking this. He diverts his gaze down to the floor before his thoughts can escalate any further. His shoes, dirty and torn from the swampland, offer no form of consolation, but they remind him of sinking knee-deep in mud and Hisoka's razor-sharp playing cards; the imagery tears at him and he worries it will linger on for the rest of the night, because he sorely needs the sleep. "Of course I'm not going to tell. That would give you an unfair advantage!"

"So you're not stupid," he sighs. "That's a little unfortunate." His eyes feel heavy, half-lidded, staring emptily at the deserted part of the airship, but her ringing voice keeps him alert.

"Unfortunate for you," she huffs. Her voice sounds a little scandalized, cleverly masked with unashamedly joking pettiness, but Pokkle can tell. "And besides, it's a trade secret. If I were to tell you, then I'd have to, well — it won't be pleasant for you, to say the least."

Pokkle laughs dryly at the purported threat, but he doesn't breach the subject again afterwards.

* * *

><p>Ponzu's room is located at the far end of the corridor, two rooms after the rickety old door that leads to the kitchen. She shares her room with a guy who wields venomous snakes for weapons, which is enough reason to deter most people from visiting — but once Bourbon's absence in the room is confirmed, Pokkle suddenly finds himself standing smack dab in front of the door with a palm pushed up to knock, wondering what exactly the hell he is doing and why. The first question is rhetorical, but the second one is honest, and he just stands there for a few minutes like a moron, glancing back and forth.<p>

He knocks. There is a beat; he almost hangs on to the hope that Ponzu isn't around, either, or busy doing something that can only be accomplished with a locked door. But then he hears the knob turn easily with a creak, before he can regain his sense and turn on his heel, and Ponzu is standing in front of him, her face washed with surprise. But not much; Pokkle decides not to mull over it for very long.

"I thought you were Bourbon. What are you here for? It's a little late."

"I, uh, I couldn't sleep," he stutters out, fidgeting with his shirt. He must look so suspicious. "I just wanted to see how you were faring, that's all. I can leave, if that's what you want —"

"No, no! Come in," she says, with startling ease, opening the door further, and Pokkle does, like a fool. Ponzu locks the door carefully behind her after he enters and he tries not to think of the implications behind it.

The first thing he notices about her side of the room is the pretty vanity sitting in the corner. He scans his eyes briefly over the brightly-colored, sweet-scented bottles and tiny jars laid neatly atop it, straining to read the sticker brands on them. _Huh_, he thinks, eyes narrowed, wondering why he's so surprised.

She sits beside him on the chairs at the corner and she doesn't smell of chemicals anymore, just a faint hint of honey and wildflowers — the bathroom door hangs half-open, the walls and curtains obviously wet even from where he's sitting, and he frowns at the self-infliction he's just caused on himself.

"I couldn't sleep, either," she admits, a little embarrassed, and that's when he notices that she's not wearing her hat, when he's in the process of not paying attention to her face. Where is it? She's a lot shorter without it, he notes, and chalks it up to some kind of childhood complex, the complicated kind, the ones he's only read about skimming through thick books but never really understood beyond its superficial definitions. "Let's just talk."

"Um," he mumbles, unsure, his train of thought suddenly broken, but she's already made up her mind.

Later, it's only the vague sound of Bourbon's footsteps and the loud hiss of his snakes that convinces him that he needs to leave. Like, _right now_. He really doesn't want to — not with her company to have around — but he has enough sense in him to excuse himself a little earlier and make a run for it at the corridor, the inside of his mouth dry and sticky with something sweet.

When he gets up to leave, smoothing down his shirt, Ponzu looks at him like she's trying to tell him something, her hand shifting — he waits, but the sudden silence between them only grows more uncomfortable and he doesn't know why he expects anything to happen.

* * *

><p>"The engine's running smoothly," he confirms, his hand warm where she'd pressed hers on it, clutched and fisted inside the pocket of his trousers.<p>

"Good, then," Ponzu sighs in relief. "We'll just have to wait here until it's over."

Pokkle flinches inwardly at her comment. "You're not going up?"

"There's too much noise," she says, like she's not making it that much harder for him. "Too much people. I don't want anything to do with them." The sentence comes out harsher, sharper than he expects, and his mind almost recoils at the contrast it makes against her meek voice, at the side of herself struggling to be let out. "I mean — I'm just a little tired, that's all," she continues, her demeanor reverting, softening. Like an actress breaking out of character.

"I'm still here," he points out, hopeful. "Do you—"

Ponzu looks irritated, but only for a moment. "You can stay." Her face scrunches up, like she's deep in thought, the vivid color of her eyes dying under the shadow. The wall of the ship's underbelly is cool and metallic, the atmosphere dull, but he feels warmer than he has any right to be. "I don't mind. If you want, anyway. I'm not stopping you," she adds, a little too quickly, but the brief moment of weakness fails to give him any meaningful amount of consolation.

"No, I'm sorry. I was just checking."

When he turns to sit next to her, the smile he has on feels flimsy even to himself.

* * *

><p>It is easy enough to incapacitate his target and snatch his tag; Pokkle does not delude himself into believing that it is over so quickly. Hunting down the prey is the prelude, the first stage to becoming one yourself, and that's the difficult part, getting out alive with his limbs and prizes intact. A bow and arrow is no good if you've got no arms to hold them.<p>

The second day is when things really start to hit their stride. He's a pretty peace-loving person, all things considered, so he tends to avoid messy bloodsheds whenever possible — especially not with the amount of nutjobs _and_ infuriatingly lucky morons present for this year — but about halfway through the day, the amount of ambushes he's had to escape through gets under his skin.

He's a good person as much as he is a pacifist, but what he doesn't admit to himself is that he's not — all _that_, you know? He's not bloodthirsty like Hisoka or confident like Hanzo or unnervingly skilled like that white-haired boy. And, anyway — blood makes a mess, and he's got better things to do with his limited supply of arrows and poison, so.

* * *

><p>He runs into her, once. It's the third day, or maybe the fourth — he should be keeping track, honestly — and she's sprinting hurriedly through the woods, camouflaging herself between bushes and imposing trees, but Pokkle has hunted down enough animals to figure out the pattern of her movements.<p>

The thought of him being her target flashes at the back of his head, for a second, and it stings him where it counts. Ponzu is a smart girl, though, probably smart enough to know if he's chasing her. Probably.

Right now, she's not even looking at him. Pokkle chews on the inside of his cheek, and hastens his pace, his breath catching.

"H-Hey," he calls, from one side. "Ponzu!"

"Oh — " She blinks; it takes a second for her to regain her bearings. He wonders what would've happened if it had been someone other than him. "It's… it's you."

"It's me," he parrots. "Sorry. Did I startle you?"

"No, but I didn't expect you to be here. What do you want?" Her face is serious, steely, eyes defiant and brought up to him. He's heard that tone of voice before, once, echoing back in the darkness of the ship, so he doesn't flinch or stand back in surprise like he should. He knows she's entertaining the thought of her being his target — that's not entirely incorrect, depending on how you look at it — and he relishes in the sight of her with her guard up, expression taut and free from the girlish smiles she gave away like candy. He wonders if it all had been pretend.

"Don't worry," he laughs, then, his hands up. "I've already got what I wanted."

"Good for you," she replies, sounding spiteful.

"You haven't?"

"Bourbon," she says, gradually bottling her emotions in a tight frown. "He's my target."

"Snakes," is what he says, the first thing he can think of.

"I'm not worried about the venom," she dismisses, but doesn't elaborate. Pokkle thinks he has a pretty good idea about it. "I don't know where he is."

"I can help you, if you want — "

"No," she sighs, "it's okay. Taking up your offer means that I'm betraying my own capabilities."

He pauses; he doesn't pretend as if he understands that sense of disappointment, but he really wants to think he does. "Fair enough," he says, neutrally. "I'll be on my way, then."

Ponzu nods, and he goes.

* * *

><p>He reaches the checkpoint, eventually. He finds a secluded spot under a shade and waits. But she doesn't come. He looks at the crumpled piece of paper with numbers hastily scrawled onto it, and swallows, his mouth dry and sour, but she never comes.<p>

* * *

><p>He's smiling when he says goodbye to Gon and the white-haired brat and everyone else, and he's still beaming on the way back, even when his breath catches threateningly, traitorously at the back of his throat.<p>

* * *

><p>The fact is that Ponzu is not an exceptionally beautiful girl. He's seen better faces in crowds and television screens and magazine spreadsheets, and her plain complexion and jade bangs don't hold a candle to any of them. He trains Nen, finds work and a place to live, far away from home's confines.<p>

He doesn't think about her at all for a month, maybe two, maybe eleven — but then he does, and he remembers the crumpled piece of paper too.

Ponzu is not an exceptionally beautiful girl, not someone who would grasp attention, but that doesn't stop him from ringing her up the very next day. Pokkle holds the receiver close to his ear, tugging at the cable, and listens tentatively to the hum of the dial tone, hopeful.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **First off, I'd like to deeply apologize to the good people at a certain HxH forum which I thoughtlessly left behind when I decided to stop being _charontine_ and set up another account on a whim. Haha… ha. I'm so sorry. Apology fic? Apology fic.

Special mention to _Colorless Butterfly_, whom I remember have reviewed a bunch of my fics — back when I was 12 and ultra-pretentious — and liked them (!). Thank you. I'm so so so sorry for replying to the PM you sent to my old account like, 4 months late. Also, thank you just as much to all the people who reviewed my fics back when I was _charontine_.

Anyway, I managed to get myself way, _way_ behind on series as a whole — I may have forgotten about a lot of things, but Pokkle and Ponzu's death still sting, haha. This is kind of bad, but I was a major Pokkle/Ponzu fan back in the day (still am), and I'm just glad I'm able to dole up something involving these two after so long. I'm probably going to proofred this in the morning. Hopefully I'll be able to write something better and more inspired later on.


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